Nowak picked up another can of petrol and doused the shopkeeper’s son in fuel. One of his henchmen held the door open and pushed him towards it. Desperate not to leave his father, he grabbed hold of the doorway to try and stay.

‘Get me my money,’ said Nowak. ‘And tell Jia Khan what you have seen. Tell her this is her fault. That if she does not give me the city, more of this will happen. Go!’

The young man fell out of the shop, scrambling for the nearest cashpoint, searching his pockets for his keys and his cards. They were empty. He had nothing but his phone. He dialled Idris. ‘They’ve got my dad! They’re going to kill him! I need money! Now!’

But by the time Idris arrived, the building was ablaze, the young man on his knees outside, his head in his hands. Idris dragged him back to a safe distance.

He was delirious, his eyes red, his body soaked through with sweat and petrol. ‘They set the place alight as soon as I called you,’ he said. ‘They covered me in petrol so I couldn’t help him! They were never going to wait! They have no mercy! He was an old man! Just a frail old man.’ He cried out in agony, his spirit broken, his mind on the verge. ‘There was no one to help us!’ he said. ‘No one.’

News of the incident spread quickly across the region. Rumours mixed with facts, turning the story into a myth that would be spoken of for years to come. By the time the fire was put out and the building safe enough for the old man’s body to be brought out, there was nothing left. Dental records confirmed who he was.

The streets were filled with silence that night, as the city mourned the death of an innocent shopkeeper, a victim in a turf war that had little to do with him. His only crime: standing up to Nowak. The air was crisp, the orange glow from the street lights bathed the lanes, and the smell of coal and shisha wafted over the cobbles. Despite the great evil that had been done, the landscape remained unchanged. But something unseen had changed. A tipping point had been reached, a critical mass, and things would never be the same again.

CHAPTER 38

‘They are upping their game,’ Jia told her men. ‘They are trying to take apart the grassroots of our operation and this cannot be tolerated.’

The attack on the shop had come hot on the heels of a blaze at a Khan storehouse. It was the third time the Brotherhood had done this. They had been building inroads slowly, taking advantage of the fact that Jia and her men were putting all their energies into restructuring the business.